Hallowed (Redux)
by InkWorthy
Summary: Kirsty accepts an offer from the Lead Cenobite; a taste of the Labyrinth's pleasures, no contract required. A revised re-upload of Hallowed, originally posted in 2017. Do not read if under the age of 18.
1. Chapter 1

"You may stop this whenever you wish, you need only say the word." It was an assurance, but he spoke in such a cold and calculated tone that Kirsty had trouble recognizing it for one. She'd heard of safe-words, of course; she'd even used them with a partner and a brief experiment with handcuffs and warm wax. But she'd done her reading before that, and she knew the manta for this kind of thing: safe, sane and consensual.

There was nothing safe or sane about this.

"You would be surprised," his voice answered her unspoken thought, and Kirsty frowned a bit. "I would promise you your safety, but I doubt you would trust me."

"We don't exactly have the same definitions of safe," Kirsty responded, and the Hell Priest almost smiled slightly, chest rumbling with what might have been a chuckle.

"I understand. This will adhere to your standards, not mine." The Cenobite turned his head forward, and Kirsty nodded, skeptical though she still felt.

She was the one who agreed to this, though, and she had to believe she knew what she was doing. She was even a little excited, even if she'd never admit it.

He had led her down a long hall, her arm on his despite her hesitance, and into a solitary and surprisingly sparse room. Wall-mounted chandeliers of wrought metal cradled light that was impossibly soft – she could look into it without discomfort. Somehow the soft light filled the room enough for her to see all of it; and what she saw surprised her.

"I assume this is closer to what you're accustomed to," the Cenobite Prince spoke as he let her arm go and walked to the center of the room, "but if you desire any adjustments, then I can see to it they're made." She looked at the walls, the ground, a desk off to the side with bottles on it, the bed he'd approached, inspecting everything; she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

Or wasn't seeing.

"…No hooks." Kirsty's eyes trailed over to the Cenobite inspecting the bed. It was lined with rich red sheets and a cushiony pillow, welcoming, sexy. She tried to be surprised at herself for the last thought, at how it lingered when her eyes followed the sheets' creases to the strong hand and leather-bound arm that were making them.

"No hooks," he agreed, stepping back and beckoning her forward. "You agreed to experience one extreme of sensation. I could show you the exquisite depths of agony," Kirsty's eyes narrowed, brow furrowing and a small shudder crawling up her back, "but there is more to our realm than the reshaping of flesh." He gestured to the bed again as Kirsty approached, feeling her pulse quicken. "There are no surprises here." Her fingers brushed the blanket – soft, plush. It seemed comfortable.

No surprises. Kirsty tugged at the edge of her nightgown – which, she noticed, near-perfectly matched the sheets – before nodding.

The bed was softer than she expected as she lowered herself onto it. No spikes, no cold springs, nothing her anxieties had promised in the moments before this. No surprises. She relaxed after a moment's hesitation, almost annoyed at how nice it was. She didn't remember anything about this place being pleasant, and the only beds she'd seen were Frank's, and they were as good as deathbeds. This was a hell dimension.

_Not the only hell. _She pushed the thought from her head to focus on the moment. He was standing over her now, a shadow crossing her chest with his arm.

The Cenobite pushed a stray hair from her face. She half-wanted to lean into it, but didn't. It was pride, she knew; he couldn't know that his hand was strangely comforting, his voice as inviting as it was intimidating. Even here, in his realm and under his touch, she couldn't let herself surrender completely. She still wanted to keep something for herself, some bit of… control? Innocence? Independence, she decided, though even that didn't feel right.

This was to sate her curiosity, so she could stop wondering in the middle of the night. She repeated that to herself as he leaned over her, pins brushing her nose.

"Do you wonder so often, Kirsty?" She looked away, turning her head slightly, but still sensed his smile. "I did promise you that this would be an extreme. You will be brought to the precipice of sensation and held there. I will keep you at that edge until you ask to be released, or I see fit to release you. Whichever comes first." She could almost see a smirk, almost make out affection, almost eke out _some _sort of sentiment behind his mask of calm. "There is no time in this place, Kirsty. You may experience hours or years. Do you want this?"

"Why do you have to ask?" She looked back at him, letting confusion color her features. "We've already gotten to this point, aren't you going to do that anyway."

"Only if you agree to it. You are not here by opening the box, Kirsty, and have not given yourself to pleasure. As long as that is true, you are the one who holds power here."

"…I see." He wasn't being direct, but she understood it anyway. As long as she didn't open the box – an unspoken contract – he couldn't proceed on principle. He needed consent, in one form or another. It seemed like he wanted it anyway – he wanted to know that she was willing, not just compliant.

"You have to tell me, Kirsty. Do you want this?" His expression was guarded, but sincere; Kirsty nodded, but he made no move to act.

"…Yes," she finally said, "I want this."

The lead Cenobite nodded and straightened up over her, and his hands took her wrists. He pinned them over her head. For a second there was nothing but her pulse in her ears, but she felt cloth around them, binding them. She wriggled a bit on instinct; it didn't constrict her and left some room for her wrists to breathe, but she couldn't get out. That didn't surprise her. The fabric was soft, she noted.

He stayed by the bed, and she felt his eyes trail over her. _I must look so vulnerable right now, _Kirsty thought, pulling one leg closer out of habit, the need to feel less exposed. He watched, if only for a moment, before stepping away. She turned her head – he approached the desk, and a hand trailed over the bottles before selecting a tall, violet-tinted flagon. A chalice stood in front of him; he poured into it, only for a moment, less than a shot's worth of liquid, before corking the bottle and setting it back in place. The chalice he lifted with both hands. Slowly he turned, and Kirsty was about to roll out of bed in curiosity – what _was _that?

"A taste," he said as he reached the bedside, "of the Labyrinth's pleasures." He brought the chalice to his lips, and it had never occurred to her that he had to do things like eat or drink. When he finished he lowered it to her level – there was, by her guess, less than a teaspoon of liquid. "Drink it slowly, and we can begin."

"What does it do?" Kirsty looked up at him, and his expression betrayed no impatience or disappointment.

"It is a primer," he said, "so you are not overwhelmed beyond recovery. It is also the starting point; this _will _affect you, Kirsty, but it will not hurt you." She looked at him for a long moment before looking at the liquid; it was the color of syrup, or whiskey, and smelled vaguely of warm vanilla. She nodded, and he tilted the cup forward so she could drink. It _was _warm and sweet, but not overbearingly so; it tasted like something she'd drink near a fireplace on a winter night. He pulled away and returned to the desk; when he came back without the chalice, the Lead Cenobite did nothing.

Kirsty looked at him, perplexed, and let him find the question in her mind.

"Wait," he spoke, and now she could detect the slightest warmth in his voice, "it will come. Do you remember the word?" Red, she thought to herself, and he nodded, content it was in her mind. All she had to do was say red, and it was over.

For another moment, there was nothing. She wasn't sure what she was even waiting for, since sensation could mean anything and everything, couldn't it? But then she started to notice. It started somewhere in her abdomen, in the pit of her body, and spread in all directions like ink crawling across wet paper.

Kirsty squirmed slightly, trying to place it, trying to figure out just what "it" was. Warmth, certainly, but faint; almost like a tingling sensation, one that she knew somehow. It was only as the sensation travelled further out, filling her stomach and crawling towards her legs, that she realized why it was so familiar.

It was _arousal._

Kirsty shuddered, closing her eyes as she felt a dull throb between her legs. The Cenobite never moved, and she could feel his eyes on her face, watching intently. Beads of sweat formed on her skin and her nightgown grew clingy; she had to focus on breathing slowly, trying not to get worked up too soon. The fire under her skin crawled gradually up her neck, and she couldn't quite fight a tremble of her lip, suddenly aching to be kissed.

The Cenobite did not kiss her. Instead he brushed a hair from her forehead. Kirsty took a breath, trying not to lean towards him. She was sweating harder now, her skin hot and slick and crying out for so much as the lightest caress. She had never been this aroused taking care of herself, hell, even sex didn't compare to this. It felt _good, _even as every inch of her yearned to be touched, the ache worst in her now-slick folds. Kirsty took another breath.

Hadn't _he _drunk from it, too? How was this not affecting him? But when she looked up, his face betrayed nothing; only his eyes gave away a certain hunger that had not been there before, the rest of him statue-still. Was he _used _to this? Her eyes closed as the heat reached her throat.

"Kirsty, can you still speak?" His voice was like a cold knife slicing through the warm haze, but only temporarily; she was shocked for a mere moment before she was nearly lost to the pleasure and need again.

"Y-yes…" she answered, not opening her eyes, and heard a heavy rumble again. If she had opened them, she would see him smiling for just a moment with satisfaction.

"Good," he said simply, "I have no intention of silencing you." She couldn't stop herself from wriggling a bit now, looking for friction. She barely even registered that he was speaking. She gasped, then let out a heady moan as another shudder of pleasure coursed through her.

He still wasn't touching her, and it was driving her _mad. _This felt so right but so wrong, not out of guilt, but because nothing was touching her. It was like hunger, like starvation of her own skin. If her hands weren't bound she'd have tried to finish herself off; her thighs rubbed together, seeking the friction she needed.

"Please," she whispered, then louder, "_please…"_

"Yes, Kirsty? What is it you want?" She couldn't think about being embarrassed by the answer. Even if she wasn't desperate she wouldn't have been ashamed, not really, no matter how much she wanted to pretend that she did not want to give in. She did. She wanted it more than anything she'd ever known.

"T-touch…" her hips bucked, and she gasped out the words. "Touch me…"

"Ah." If she had been paying attention, she would have heard affection in his voice, just for those few words. "As you command."

Kirsty almost sobbed with relief when he pushed her gown up. He rubbed her through her underwear for a moment; he idly thumbed her clit, watched her face as she strained to raise her hips even more. His touch remained light and teasing for what felt like the longest time, but couldn't have been more than a few minutes. He drew out his movements for small eternities, exquisite and torturous. It was only when Kirsty whimpered, inhibition forgotten, that he slipped his hand under the thin piece of fabric, two cool fingers sliding into her with ease.

Kirsty gripped at air in her binds. She could feel the calluses on his fingertips against her, and the cool leather covering his thumb rested over her clit. He was still again, and she bucked her hips up towards him, trying to get him to move.

"Remember, Kirsty," through the haze of lust she did not question the near-lilt in his tone, only ached for it, "Once you reach the edge, I will not let you over for hours." He started thrusting his fingers slowly, rubbing her with his thumb as he did. "Possibly longer. We can stop here, if you have had enough."

"N-no…"

"I do not know what that means, Kirsty."

"Keep…" it was hard to focus on words, on anything but his slow pace and how she wanted him to go faster. "Keep going… please…"

"Very well."

He did not speed up; how Kirsty didn't collapse from exhaustion, she didn't know, but she kept rocking against his hand and trying to focus on getting herself to the tipping point. Even as slow as he was, she could feel it building up. Kirsty steadied her breathing, losing herself now in the motion; she was so close, it'd just take another second…

The coiling in her body was tightened as far as it could, but nothing happened. There was no breaking point; she could not get herself to climax, no matter how hard she rocked, as if her energy had been spent ascending to the highest point only to find no precipice. Kirsty opened her eyes, knowing her expression was one of pleading as the Lead Cenobite gazed down at her in what could have been adoration.

"Now," he said, "we begin."

* * *

_Ta-daaaa! It's not a wholesale rewrite so much as a strong edit and expansion, but Hallowed is back! I wanted it to re-characterize Kirsty in this, but I'm feeling much better about this version. Part two should be up soon!_


	2. Chapter 2

"Begin? This is the _starting point?" _Kirsty's words came as a whimper, and she squirmed in her binds. The Cenobite had slowed his movements to a near-standstill, and she nearly wanted to scream, to beg him not to stop. She was already so close, and already she could feel the wave receding before it'd had its chance to crest. Her eyes opened, and she looked up to see dark ones staring down at her with that same hunger as before.

"I told you, Kirsty, that I would hold you here once we reached this point." His other hand moved to slightly tidy her hair, and for the briefest moment he caressed the side of her face. She leaned towards it, desperate for touch. "Our purpose is to push the boundaries of pleasure and pain until they are indistinguishable and intertwined. You are at the threshold of such a boundary now." The hand between her legs stopped and pulled away completely, and she groaned as the sensations continued to wrack her body without his touch to anchor it.

"Please…"

"It will be overwhelming, Kirsty." Something changed in his voice, something solemn and, impossibly, tender. "Your flesh has never been pushed this far. The pleasure will be unfamiliar to you, and at moments it will run parallel to agony. I _will _need to give you another elixir, to keep you from going too far past that threshold. We can stop here completely, or I can give you a more human release, if you prefer. Know that I cannot pull you back once you are over the breaking point." The hand cradling her face moved to her jaw; the fingertips were cool, but the leather was warm as it brushed under her eye. "The decision is yours."

His grip tightened the slightest bit on her face, turning it more towards him; he held her gaze, waiting for her to focus. "Tell me what you desire, Kirsty. I will not begrudge your answer. There is nothing you need to prove here, no wrong answers."

His voice washed over her, steady and controlled; it was like an anchor within the sensation she'd found herself submerged. He was offering her an out, even now; something akin to a mercy, an escape. For a second, she considered the thought of taking it, if she'd regret that decision.

There was nothing she needed to prove; that she could accept. But her skin was alight and that fire was still lingering behind his eyes, sparking her curiosity. She had to know what was beyond that – and beyond this.

"I…" talking was hard, but Kirsty focused her thoughts, her words. He would keep her like this unless she said something, but once she did, it was over. Even now she could grasp what he was saying; perhaps she understood better now, at the threshold, than she ever could from just hearing it described. She'd never imagined her own desire could be this consuming. Beyond this point – how could she begin to guess?

It almost hurt now, how badly she needed release, to be touched, to feel _anything _(to feel him) anchor the sensation with some form of physical contact. But it was more than that; she'd reached the threshold. She wanted to see what was past it. She drew in another breath, forcing the haze back enough to focus on her choice. "I want to keep going… I want this."

The Cenobite nodded, giving that slight, unreadable smile, the tender creature of a moment ago gone behind a mask of self-control. His eyes were a smokescreen, the fire from before hidden away. His hand left her face and took the hem of her nightgown between two fingers. "Very well, Kirsty."

He bunched up her nightgown in his hand and slowly pulled up, exposing her sweaty skin to the warm air. The garment slid easily over her head, and he left it in a bundle at her wrists.

He paused, eyes travelling over her, and the hungry flame reignited in his gaze as he drank her in. It faded as quickly as it came, or perhaps she'd imagined it, considering her body was near-aflame with aching arousal.

Images flickered through Kirsty's mind; that one of his cool hands would caress her breasts, even brush his fingers against her throat. He didn't; his hand found the hem of her underwear once again and slid under, and soon she was caught in the same torturously slow rhythm as before. His fingers slid in and out, rubbing against her too lightly for the friction to bring sparks. She closed her eyes and groaned, head sinking back into the pillow.

"You really do – mmph – torture people…" she managed, and felt more than heard his low rumble of a laugh.

His movement was almost lulling; even with her impatience she found herself sinking into it, small shudders trailing up her spine. She wanted more, _needed _more, but even this – the lightest, slowest strokes against her aching flesh – was something close to hypnotic. She was, in a way she couldn't explain, enjoying herself.

She thought she heard him say something, but it could have been a hum.

Time didn't pass here, Kirsty remembered. They could spend hours like this if they so chose; she'd long lost her sense of the seconds ticking by, replaced by _in _and _out._ She couldn't say how long he kept her like that, but she knew it was long enough that the first real thrust of his hand drew a sharp gasp.

He pressed his thumb to her clit with a firmer touch, rubbed and stroked her with the fervor of a lover, and it was all happening so quickly she could barely catch her breath. She thought she had been at her peak, but her nerves coiled tighter, tension mounting beyond anything her body had known. She writhed, bucked, trying to find a rhythm that wasn't chaotic and desperate. Kirsty arched her back, feeling a shout build in her throat-

The Lead Cenobite pulled his hand away, and Kirsty groaned as she fell back into the sheets, panting. He watched her, waiting until her breath was steadier before he spoke.

"That is only the first, Kirsty. I will keep going until I believe you cannot take any more, unless you wish-"

"_Please _don't stop," Kirsty's voice was nearly a plea, though he knew it was from need and not fear, and she knew he understood. "Not now, please." There was that smile again.

"As you desire."

He didn't stop. The Cenobite began again, a cycle slowly emerging; slow movements and touches that left her wanting, then sudden intensity which threatened to push her into climax before suddenly being pulled back. She'd heard of denial before, but never had it been described as this overwhelming and exhausting and _good._

At last his free hand brushed her skin, sliding from her hip to her breast, gently circling her flesh with his thumb. Kirsty writhed and groaned under his ministrations, moaned, whimpered, all but begged for more. She was close to finishing again. He stopped, and his hand left her skin, and for the first time in an eternity she opened her eyes.

For an instant the world stopped; all sensation and sense of space fled, and there was nothing but his eyes. He was looking at her with an intensity she'd never seen; it was lust and hunger and something close to _adoration. _It was not a human expression; indeed, his face betrayed almost no expression at all beyond the slightest crease of his brow, but it somehow spoke volumes. The slightest upward turn of his lip, the suggestion of a smile – and then his fingers moved inside her again, and she was engulfed once more, eyes closing.

She'd long lost her sense of time. She had lost sense of nearly everything, drowning in the feeling that saturated her nerves and was broken only by the Cenobite's touch. His hand was her only tie to reality; her body was lost in heat and pleasure, the anticipation of what was coming. There were no more questions, hesitations, inhibitions. Even the rhythm of before, the moment shared in their eyes, was lost. There was no room in her for any of that, or for anything beyond the moment. There was nothing else in the world, no Earth, no need to escape, no need to fight, no pride. There was nothing but ecstasy, pulled tighter and tighter inside her beyond possibility, and the one who held reprieve between his thumb and two fingers.

He stopped again, and she gave a short and desperate sob.

"Kirsty." Her eyes ached; she opened them anyway, looked at the Cenobite even as she felt the first mist of tears. "This is the last time you can say no." His thumb slid in a small circle over her clit, less methodical than before, and she whimpered. "I cannot stop this once it has started. I can only control how intensely you feel what comes next." His voice was low, though it still rumbled under her skin. "Tell me that you want this, Kirsty."

Her voice was dry in her throat. She nodded, swallowed, tried to speak; nothing. She swallowed again.

"Yes…"

"Yes what, Kirsty?"

"I want this." It came out short, but certain. She'd come so far, she could have cried if she'd stopped. The Cenobite nodded, that softness in his eyes again even as his face remained stoic.

He pulled out of her; Kirsty closed her eyes and tried to fight the sounds of protest in her throat. She barely heard him walk away, or the sound of liquid pouring, but then the cool smoothness of the chalice was pressed to her lips.

"Drink," he said, voice soft, "to make it easier." She did drink, and it was cool and smooth and she felt herself being pulled back; not far, but enough to where she noticed. A cool hand on her cheek. She opened her eyes, saw him gazing down at her.

"You are exquisite, Kirsty," the Prince said with a softness she didn't know. "May I kiss you?"

"Yes…" her eyes closed again as she all but melted into his hand, her lips parting slightly when his own pressed to them. Warm and cold and rough and soft were all but lost to her, but she felt the pressure of the kiss and the needles scraping her skin, and she responded with a moan.

At long last his hand was between her legs again, and the fingers found her folds with a single thrust. Kirsty moaned against his lips, rolling her hips again and struggling to keep up. He was finally moving faster and it was overwhelming; her body cried out to him in her exhausted but hungry movements, the roll of her hips and the rise and fall of her chest. The Lead Cenobite pulled away and thrust his fingers into her with exquisite force, and she spilled over.

It was agony, white-hot and divine. Every nerve seemed to burst, and she screamed, a strained sound she couldn't even hear with how lost she was to the pleasure. The world was white behind her eyelids, his hand was gone, she twisted and gasped as fire coursed under her skin. This was not even heat, it was closer to light and it was flooding her. It reached into her very core; just short of consuming her whole it stopped, and the drink's taste lingered on her tongue.

The light finally started ebbing from her body, and she was anchored back by a hand caressing her cheek. The world rushed back into her; she was suddenly sore and exhausted, but she caught her breath, and the receding light was chased by a comforting heaviness.

"Rest, Kirsty," a deep voice blanketed her senses in darkness, and she welcomed it after the deafening silence of the light. She leaned into the hand. Tears spilled down her face from behind her eyelids. "Rest. Let it take you." The world grew quiet and heavy, the voice further away. "I will be here. You are safe."

Kirsty sunk into exhausted sleep. The Cenobite Prince watched her, brushing a tear from her cheek. She was tired, but still present; the second elixir had been a good idea, he decided. He enjoyed games, but her spirit was something with which he'd never gamble.

"You are safe," he said again, and this time it was more to himself. She was coming back from the precipice; she was tired, but not lost to sensation. Knowing that sated the disquiet part of him, the humanity Kirsty had stirred in him long ago.

He needed to prepare, but the Prince sat down by her bedside, still stroking her face. There was much to attend to, but he wanted to stay, to ensure she was alright – even if it was for just another minute.

* * *

_I totally forgot to mention that I have a tumblr! It's mostly for talking about HR and brainstorming, but I also take story requests/suggestions! Find me at inkworthywords if you have any ideas!_


	3. Chapter 3

The world came back slowly, or perhaps Kirsty came back to it slowly, like a swimmer surfacing from waters deeper than she'd expected. The sounds came first, her own breathing and heartbeat and the sound of a person's movements; it was quickly followed by the sudden heavy ache in her bones. She groaned, the air harsh on her dry mouth as she breathed in. She smelled sweat and something like whiskey.

Kirsty always opened her eyes last when waking up. She stretched her arms, felt fabric at her wrists, but it fell into her grasp at the slightest tug. She opened her eyes, blinked, holding the fabric before her eyes as her sight focused; red, like the blanket pulled over her sweat-soaked body, the nightgown clinging to her wrist, and the sheets underneath. Blood red, or maybe closer to pomegranate, but none of these things were hers.

Kirsty scrambled to sit up, looking around wildly; her eyes took in unnatural pale light on black brick walls, her joints protesting from the sudden movement. They were overworked from tension – tension?

Memory seeped back, slowly and in reverse. A climax that had turned into overwhelming sensation. Buildup, then receding, again and again. She had let herself be undressed, let herself be tied up. The whiskey was on her breath – the drink. The primer, given to her by-

"You are awake." Kirsty gasped and turned her head to the voice. The Cenobite stood a few feet away, face an unreadable and unbiased calm. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself.

"How long was I…" she started, and he shook his head, his hands clasped behind his back.

"As long as you have needed. I told you before that there is no time in this place; when you return to your world it will have been as if you never left." She nodded, swallowing again, throat dry; she wanted to taste that drink again, and she told herself it was because of the flavor, and not its potency beyond. "As per our agreement." Perhaps he could read her even from this distance, because he returned to the desk. Rather than reaching for the first flask, the one with liquid fire that had drenched her nerves in such an overwhelming need, the lead Cenobite chose a vial full of liquid from a row of them and poured into the chalice, then another, then topped it with the contents of a stout white bottle. It frothed, but did not overflow.

"So… that's it?" She could not keep the surprise from her voice; it felt like a trap, almost, that he would make getting out so easy. She watched him carry the chalice to her bedside, not a drop spilling. He set it on the small table beside her. "I'm going home, just like that?" He cupped her face with one hand, tilted her chin up, and she was so tired that she let him – at least, that was what she would tell herself later.

"I would spend eternity here, Kirsty, teaching you the intricacies of your own flesh. Should you let me I would bring you to realms of pleasure and pain that would make what I have already given you seem a sigh in the face of storms. I would give you the most exquisite of agonies." She thought of the chains, of what was done to his own body. How could he make it sound so tempting? She stared into the void of his eyes, met with no shine, no sign of what lay past them. His thumb slid over her chin, slow, nearly comforting. The void stirred. "But that was not what you agreed to."

He pulled back, and Kirsty leaned back on the bed, still tired, still heavy. The Cenobite watched her as she pulled the blanket tighter around herself, and if she had seen any softness in him the moments before, it was gone now. She took a breath, ordering her thoughts in line. She started with the most pressing question, the one she often wished she had asked many people at many different times.

"What happens now?"

"That is your decision." It was strange, how willing he seemed to give her power in this. It seemed so different from his persistence, his near-obsession with claiming her soul. Did he really go through all of this just to let her make the decisions? Was that what he'd meant to do?

"What if I want to go home?"

"Then you will be sent back to your world, in your home. It will be as if no time has passed since we began." Kirsty frowned, waiting for a catch, but he did not continue. She swallowed.

"…And what if I want to stay?" She saw something in his eyes, hunger, like a blaze roaring to life from faint sparks. She had seen it when he drank from the primer, but that must have been hours ago. It was doused as quickly as it was roused, and it took a moment for him to answer. Why?

"Then you stay." She could hear restraint in his voice, and beneath it something that might have been the lilt of interest, of excitement. "I will show you more, take you to realms of sensation beyond your darkest and deepest dreams." He never moved, but she could see the slightest quickening of his breath, of how he straightened his body soldier-stiff. And then it was gone, just like the fire in his eyes. "But I cannot keep you here forever – you will have to leave, unless you give yourself to us."

"The box," Kirsty breathed, and the Cenobite nodded.

"What is your choice, Kirsty?"

"I want to go home." The words were automatic, and she almost winced at them; why did she regret saying that?

"I see," he said, and he started to reach for the drink. That was to send her home, she realized; he handed it to her, and she took it, staring at the clear liquid that was the color of pomegranate and lined with tiny bubbles at its edges. She hesitated.

"There is something on your mind." She looked up at the Lead Cenobite, at those dark eyes.

"…What if I want to come back?"

A spark, but no fire; not immediately, at least. It hung there, in his expression, not quite catching for a moment the way it had the first time. In the same second it did take, she realized why it wasn't instant; he hadn't been expecting that. She'd caught him off guard.

Kirsty allowed herself the slightest bit of pride at that.

"If… you ever express interest," he said, and the flicker of pride swelled at that small moment he needed to collect himself, "the doors to this space are open and waiting. As I shall be." She nodded, fighting back a smile, and turned to the cup again.

"Good to know." It smelled floral; heady, but not too much so, and she _was _quite thirsty. "We'll just have to see. Until then…" She took the cup to her lips and drank slowly. It was frothy and light; she finished it at once.

"Until our next meeting, Kirsty." Her eyelids grew heavy; she couldn't focus. The cup fell from her hands, and the sound of it hitting the stone floor was the last thing she heard. The world melted into a dreary blackness.

* * *

Kirsty blinked; darkness. She squinted, and the faintest light blanketed certain things, forming outlines that grew into familiar shapes around her. A dresser, the jewelry box on top, the mirror, the blanket on top of her.

She sat up. She was in her room. In her room and dressed – the nightgown felt clean, dry aside from a sweaty spot on her back. There was no sound; there were no Cenobites.

Kirsty let herself fall back onto the bed; she sighed, staring up at the ceiling. She could taste something like flowers and warm vanilla at the back of her throat. The world was silent but for her own heartbeat. It was the sound she let lull her back to sleep, syncing with the faint ticking of a golden box on her bedside table.


End file.
